


Sing Me to Sleep

by xiaolives



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oops, Slow Burn, Virtual Reality, Wholesome, maybe character death, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiaolives/pseuds/xiaolives
Summary: Dream thought he had everything under control. Why wouldn’t he? It was called the Dream SMP for a reason. No matter how much “control” Wilbur or Tommy thought they had, at the end of the day, Dream was the one to make the shots. So when Wilbur sent him the script for the war that was going to happen on the 16th, there was no reason for Dream to not feel confident.That short lived pride was shattered when the young man awoke in L'manburg, seven days before the war was meant to take place. Now unsure if this is a dream or reality, Dream is given only one chance - He has to protect George.-"We lived our lives as if we had a choice," Dream buried his wet face into his hands, "I would do anything for him. Anything for George."-Inspiration from Sing me to Sleep - Alan WalkerWarnings: Blood, Self harm, Death
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 110





	1. November 16th

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, I kind of just wrote this in one day and I'm not sure how often I'll be updating if even, but we'll see how it goes. This is my first fanfic regarding anything of the Dream SMP, so please go easy on any inaccuracies :] Hope you enjoy it~

Dream thought he had everything under control. Why wouldn’t he? It was called the Dream SMP for a reason. No matter how much “control” Wilbur or Tommy thought they had, at the end of the day, Dream was the one to make the shots. Being the person he was, Dream wasn’t a stickler for rules. Frankly, he didn’t really care too much about roleplay to begin with. He had made the SMP with George on a whim and it had simply grown beyond his singular control. So when Wilbur sent him the script for the war that was going to happen on the 16th, Dream had only one request- George was not to be present on the battlefield.

“Dream?”

Dream blinked back into reality, his mind spinning in the clouds of his thoughts. He had forgotten that he was still in the discord call with George. “Uh sorry, what did you say?” Dream readjusted his headset and tabbed back into Minecraft. In the corner of Dream’s monitor, he had George’s facecam from his stream minimized. Dream liked it that way, it was sneaky. 

“I said, what is happening on the 16th?” George said in his classic tone.

Dream gulped down the knot in his throat. “Don’t worry about it.” Dream acted natural, jumping between different blocks in habit.  _ Yeah, definitely don’t look at the thousand of people in your chat screaming about the war. _

“Uh, okay.” George aimed his bow into the sky, the single toned shade of blue that he so much loved, not just because it was one of the few colours he could see. He let go of his mouse and watched as the arrow disappeared out of the chunks before crashing back down into the dirt with the nostalgic hit sound. “Well, I guess I’m going to end the stream then, anything you want to say Dream?”

“No, George!!!” Dream had inched his lips directly against his mic, screaming in utter anguish, a slight playful tone under his tongue. “How could you!”

“I’m sorry,” George couldn’t help but smile, his eyebrows upturned in a simultaneous apologetic state. “I’ll stream another time, and don’t worry, I’ll send all of you guys over to Karl, he’s still streaming.” George held his hands up to his face and began to wave frantically. “Bye! Bye everyone~” He smiled, both hands shaking so fast that the camera was just a messy blur of skin. 

Dream looked in silence, a playful emotion as he began to spam sad emotes and broken hearts in the chat of George’s twitch chat. George ignored them and pressed the raid button.

“Oh come on George,” Dream leaned back into his chair in relief as George’s facecam was replaced with Karl’s minecraft screen. “How could you leave me hanging like that.”

George scoffed over the call, “You’re such a crybaby. Crybaby Dream.”

Dream let out his signature wheeze. “Now that there’s no cameras, tell me you love me.” Dream loved teasing George, who wouldn’t? He had the best reactions, the perfect personality that was just begging Dream’s playful side to pull something.

“Oh shut it,” George replied in his seemingly American accent. He really had lost most of his British accent by the amount of time he had spent talking to Dream and Sapnap.

  
Dream wheezed for several seconds as George sat in silence, waiting for the American man to finish, glad that he had ended the stream so that Dream could no longer see his facecam. “So,” George started after Dream had finished laughing, “what is actually happening on the 16th?”

George wasn’t usually the one to pry into such topics, it was just that Dream had deflected the topic so adamantly, it was only fair that he pushed a little further.

“Uh…”

George smirked, “Just tell me Dream. Can’t be that secretive that you can’t tell even me? I’m not even streaming anymore.”

_ As if that makes any difference _ . “Fine,” Dream sighed, still contemplating how much he should tell George. “Tommy is having a battle with Schlatt as per usual, nothing too important.”

“Oh, that’s it?” George’s voice was laced with slight disappointment.

“What were you expecting?” Dream exited the Dream SMP server and closed his minecraft.

“Uh, I don’t know I guess.” George chuckled.

Good. George was naive. Always had been, towards Dream at least. That worked in Dream’s favour. Paired with George’s nonchalant personality, it was a perfect deflection from the war.

“What are you going to do now?” George asked.

Dream hummed, replying to Sapnap’s texts on his phone, “I guess I’ll head to bed, it’s 11PM.”

“Now? Your sleep schedule is messed up.” George closed Twitch and responded to some Twitter messages he had received from donations. “Guess I should sleep now too… we can be in sync finally.”

Dream smiled at that comment, “Do you want to sleep on call?” He couldn’t help but hide his excitement.

“Sure, should we invite Sapnap? He’s gonna yell at us for leaving him out again.”

“Ugh,” Dream cleared his throat, “I don’t think so, I think he’s out of sync.”

“Sapnap out the gang, I guess.” 

-

“Here Dream, these are the main points for the war on the 16th,” Wilbur said, voice muffled by the sound of papers fluttering against each other, “basically, Schlatt dies of a heart attack due to his old age, prevailing heart disease, and too much alcohol. Good riddance, that disgusting piece of shat. Anywas, L’manburg is won back, I make Tommy president, everyone celebrates blah blah blah, I blow up L’manburg like a fucking badass, classic villain arc am I right? Then Techno will come in clutch with his withers and boom boom boom, you assist with George, Sapnap, Karl, everything is in ruins. End slate. Sounds good?”

Static ensued in the voice chat, the mere sounds of Wilbur breathing far too close to his mic out of excitement for the event that would ensue. “Dream?”

“Yeah,” Dream chuckled awkwardly, “well um, sounds great! Just uh, one thing I need to clarify and change a little bit.”

“For sure.” Wilbur took a sip from his water bottle.

“My only rule for this war is that I don’t want George to participate.”

Wilbur blinked, not as effective as it would be in person as they couldn’t see each other, but the silence made up for the lack of luster. “You don’t want George to participate? Why not?”

“Well you know,” Dream tried to come up with an excuse that didn’t make him sound like too much of a simp. “George is George, am I right? He never really cares much about the politics of the SMP, he never shows up for events, sleeps through almost everything. When I make him the new king of the SMP, I want him to be impartial.” Dream smiled, “I’m really out here carrying George on my back through this whole roleplay thing we got going. Basically, whatever you plan to do, if you’re gonna blow up L’manburg and get Techno to release withers everywhere, I want George far away, safe from harm.”

“How do you propose we get George away from the fight? He’s not completely clueless you know.” Wilbur said.

Dream sighed, “I’ll figure some way to get him away from the fight. Leave that to me. When the day comes, I better not see anyone targeting George, or finding out you’ve laced an area outside L’manburg with TNT. Are we clear?”

“100%, leave it to me, simp.” Wilbur sneered and disconnected from the call.

The brown haired man stood up from his setup and collapsed onto his bed. Patches stretched and moved herself to Dream’s chest.

“Hey cutie.”

Dream closed his eyes. He was tense. It was the 14th, two days until the end of the Dream SMP season 1. Wilbur had asked him why he didn’t want George at the fight. To be honest, Dream wasn’t quite sure why either. To be frank, there really was no reason to make sure George wasn’t at the fight. It would probably make good content too. But something in Dream’s conscience gave him an icky feeling about the war. Nothing serious, it was more like a whisper in his ear, and if Dream knew anything about whispers in ears it was that you listen to what they have to say, and do exactly as you’re told.

Hopefully everything would turn out okay. Dream could only hope.

2 days flew by fast. It was the 16th. Time for the war.

-

"Hey George," Dream typed into his discord DMs with George. Only a few hours left until the war.

"Yeah?" George replied almost immediately. Made sense.

Dream bit down on his lip, a slightly uncomfortable bad habit of his. "I need you to do something for me."

"Okay."

Dream stared at the grey default background of the discord app, how could he word this in a way that wasn't suspicious? He had been betting on the fact that George never checked Twitter or the Dream SMP discord announcements to have even the slightest clue what was about to happen. He had also told everyone to ignore George for the most part. Hopefully this went off without a hitch.

"I want you to build a house for us."

"A house?"

"Yeah… we used to live in the community house but it's in ruins and people keep running through it. We should have a place to call ours. Maybe on the outskirts of the SMP?"

Dream watched, his shoulders tensed up as the notification that George was typing flashed up and down. 

"Sure, that would make good stream content for today."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Also…" Dream typed, then deleted it.  _ This is fine. _ Everything was going to go according to plan, the war was going to end, George would reign as the king. The day would pass.

Dream looked to Patches on his lap, "Let's do this, Patches."

-

“Fall back, fall back!” Dream yelled into his mic. “Sapnap!”

“Sorry!” 

Arrows sprayed across Dream’s screen, a flurry of people running around, wielding swords, bows, tridents, all covered in the similar dark purple armour making it almost impossible to tell who was who. If it weren’t a video game, there would be crimson blood splattering around, dead bodies slumped on the floor, fire crackling, explosions. This was it. The war.

“Don’t let them flank us, be careful!” Dream yelled. Everything was going according to plan.

Dream was just to let Pogtopia’s team pressure them to the point that he would “surrender”, then they would celebrate the reclaimed land of L’manburg. 

“Tommy, I’d like to talk to you.” Dream typed into the chat.

“Okay. VC 4.”

Dream left the VC he was in with Sapnap, Punz, Karl, and Purpled. “Hello?”

“Hey big D,” Tommy said in a low voice. “Ready to surrender?”

Tommy was live in front of 200,000 people, not just him, collectively, over 800,000 people were watching their every move. They couldn’t disappoint the fans.

“I think we all need to agree,” Dream spoke in his most serious roleplay tone that he could manage, “Schlatt is a piece of shit.”

Tommy blinked, his eyebrows raised as he looked at his camera, “Yeah, I thought we had established that a long time ago.”

“No no, listen,” Dream’s single toned green face stared at Tommy. “Look around. Do you see Schlatt? He’s nowhere to be seen, there’s no reason for us to be fighting. Let’s end this.”

Perfect. Everything was going according to script. At this moment, George was probably figuring out whether to put dark oak or jungle windows on their home.

Dream led the members of the war to the caravan, they surrounded the man in the black suit, piles of empty alcohol bottles scattered about on the floor. It was pathetic. All this war, the bloodshed, betrayals, the breaking of family and friendship, all stemmed from this man, a man that was on his deathbed. 

The members of the SMP watched as Schlatt said his last words. The war was over. L’manburg had been reclaimed. Wilbur passed his presidency over to Tommy who passed it onto Tubbo. Dream and his teammates watched in the back as Tubbo gave his speech. The people celebrated. It was over.

“Alright guys, I’m gonna leave VC for a bit,” Wilbur said in a quiet tone, one that was quickly drowned out and ignored by the yells of excitement and celebration by the people of L’manburg.

Dream smiled.

“So Dream, what, there wasn’t an imposter then? That was just bullshit?” Tommy chimed into the VC.

“Oh,” Dream smiled behind the screen, “there was an imposter.”

“What?”

“Where’s Wilbur gone?”   
  


“Wha-”

Their sounds of confusion were muffled by the rupturing of an explosion. It rippled from the podium and expanded, the ground giving out from beneath everyone, explosion particles radiating into the clear blue sky. The chat went wild.

Dream cackled, “Yes!” Wilbur had done it, he had pressed the button. Dream watched as the people fled from the explosion, bodies being catapulted into the sky, death alerts flooding into the chat. Dream breathed a sigh of relief. Everything had gone accordingly plan and George was nowhere near the explosion.

The man in green waited for the explosions to die out, as the TNT dispersed itself to the outer corners of L’manburg. Everything was in ruins. But the explosions didn’t stop.

“Wait,” The hair on Dream’s arm stood up, his breath hastened. The direction of the explosions were headed past the borders of L’manburg, they were reaching the outskirts.

“Wilbur!” Dream yelled into VC. Wilbur wasn’t connected to the call.  _ No _ . Dream scrambled to type into the chat. He wanted to scream. He needed George to get away, far far away, but it was too late.

The dreaded words popped up into the chat.

Georgenotfound was blown up by WilburSoot using TNT.

“Wilbur you fucking bastard!” Dream yelled. This wasn’t a matter of making content for the viewers. He didn’t care anymore that 800,000 people were watching. He was overcome by a rage that he couldn’t explain. An anger stemmed from betrayal.

“What happened?”

“Oh my god, it’s all gone.”

“Dream?”

The overlapping sounds of people talking echoed into Dream’s headphones. Confusion and shock echoed endlessly. Everyone was speechless.

“Wilbur, what the fuc-”

Dream’s words were cut short as his monitor went black. The static from the discord call went silent, the sounds of ambient minecraft sound effects were replaced by his rough breathing. The man stared at shock at his screen, his faded reflection looking back at him.

_ What the fuck. _

Dream looked to his PC, then to the lamp on his desk. All dead. He stood up from his desk, the adrenaline of the war pumping through his veins. He was going to kill Wilbur the moment he got back on. He broke the one rule he had set.

There wasn’t any reason for Dream’s power to go out. His parents and sister weren’t home. It wasn’t raining and it wasn’t windy.  _ Did our power lines get cut? _

Dream made his way out of his room, treading in the darkness in which he could barely see one foot in front of the other. He sighed, this was going to be a pain to fix, he could only hope that the electricity would come back by itself.

“Patches?” Dream had lost sight of his cat, just the soft pitter patter of her paws on the floor. “Where are yo-” Dream had forgotten to look where he was placing his feet, as the legs gave out beneath him. He had slipped on one of Patches’ toys. There wasn’t enough time to react.

_ Shit _ . Dream’s body fell to the floor, his arms flailing trying to break his fall. It didn’t work. His head was the first thing to hit the floor, the rest of his body crumpling in a loud thud. His already dark vision faded to an even darker black. He had blacked out.

-

His eyes felt heavy, a suffocating feeling on his chest that shallowed his breathing. 

“Wake up, you sleepyhead.”

That voice was strikingly familiar, Dream’s eyes flashed open. He was in a bed, a grey cat nestled on his chest, and a wolf attempting to lick his face. That wasn’t important. 

“George?” Dream sat up in the bed, instinctively careful not to awaken the cat. Standing in the middle of a room that Dream did not recognize, was George. It looked like George at least. His signature facial expressions were identical to how they looked on his facecam and in the facetime calls they had, but he was adorned in a peculiar outfit. Instead of the generic GeorgeNotFound merch hoodie or the general Noot T-shirt, he wore a short sleeve plain tan coloured shirt, a belt adorned with pouches, he wore cargo trousers and browned and dirtied boots. Across his chest and peeping up behind his back was the unmistakable outline of a sword.

“Why are you here?” Dream put his hands to his eyes and rubbed them vigorously.  _ This must be a dream. _

George scoffed, “Why wouldn’t I be here? Hurry up and get out of bed, we need to tend to the crops.”

“The crops?” A sense of dread washed over Dream. He ignored the empty words that George spouted and pulled himself to the bedside window. He felt the blood drain from his face. The window opened into a vast land, covered in short and tall buildings alike, but there was one thing that struck Dream straight in the heart. Flickering in the wind, high above the ground, was a large black flag, adorned with glowing orange accents.

He was in L’manburg.


	2. A Different Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I wasn't sure whether to post it now, it's midnight here but I finished! Hope you guys like it!

Dream looked in dismay out the window. Every building, every landmark, every lake, stream, pathway, was identical to how it looked in the Dream SMP.  _ That’s impossible _ . How was this possible? Dream’s mind was ablaze, the neurons in his brain crackling and sputtering in confusion. He had slipped on Patches toy and passed out on the floor of his home in Orlando. How was he in L’manburg?

  
_ This has got to be a dream. _

“Dream? Are you alright?” Dream jolted at the sensation of George placing his hand on his shoulder. Alarmed, Dream swatted George’s hand away.

George looked shocked, hurt almost as he recoiled his hand. “Dream?”

Dream looked at George. If this was a dream, this was beyond anything he had ever experienced before. He had seen George before, of course he had. How could he forget his face? The face that he woke up everyday to see, the face that sparked butterflies in his stomach. He had seen George in videos, on streams, in pictures, on calls, but nothing looked more like George than the one standing in front of him. It felt real. Realer than any computer could replicate. His cheeks were rosy, the soft crinkles around his eyes from where he smiled. The hair that was often matched with his headset was fluffy, the shade of chestnuts that fell in Autumn. His eyes, oh his eyes. It was cliche to say that Dream could get lost in George’s eyes for hours, but it was no understatement.

Dream felt a pang in his chest. Even his voice felt real. In a way that his microphone and the computer could simply not translate in the same way. How could this be? Dreams were supposed to be created off of what was already in your head, it simply wasn’t possible for this George to sound more like George than the real deal.

He had to get away. Nothing felt right. He felt like Coraline waking up to her parents with button eyes. In a way that was simply and utterly unsettling. Dream threw off the blankets and dashed out the door. 

George yelled after him but Dream didn’t want to listen to his voice. For the first time since he had known George, the very sound of his voice was haunting. Dream scoured the room he had run into. This was the community house, or at least he thought so. Instead of the furnitureless rectangle shaped build, this looked like an actual building. There was a kitchen, a kettle on the stove steaming, fresh bread and bacon in the oven that led Dream’s stomach to rumble. He felt hunger, albeit the sensation was more of a horrid reminder of how realistic this dream felt.

“Dream, wait-”

_ Nope. _ Dream made a mad dash for the door, the crisp morning air hugged his face and clothing. It was at this moment that Dream took notice of the clothes he was wearing. He was no longer dressed in his black hoodie and grey sweatpants, instead he wore an outfit very similar to George’s. The only notable part of the outfit was that it certainly wasn’t very warm. Looking around at the land, it seemed as the season was early Fall, the leaves on the trees shedding their green shades for a warmer orange suit. Now was not the time to admire the trees. Dream ran down the Prime path, his bare feet tingling against the cold oak wood. His breath left white fog in the air, it was much colder here than in Orlando.

“Hey Dream, uh why are you barefoot, and why aren’t you wearing a jacket?” 

Dream’s head turned, it was Karl. His friend who was so often dressed in comfy sweaters and jeans was sitting on a log, face dirty, a hammer and nail in hand.

Karl was here too. Dream felt the emptiness and acid in his stomach bubble in pure anxiety. With each passing second, everything felt realer. His senses couldn’t lie to him. 

Without answering Karl, Dream kept running. He blocked out the sounds of other people greeting him, keeping his gaze down as much as possible in an attempt to block out everything. At this point, Dream felt breathless, not because he had been sprinting barefoot for several minutes on an empty stomach, but because he felt his throat closing. His stomach squirmed in great unease, a feeling that he knew all too well- he was going to throw up. In a last effort to maintain his dignity, Dream knelt behind the closest tree and expelled the contents of his stomach. Water, bile, emptiness mostly. Disgusting.

Exhausted, Dream collapsed to the floor, wearily wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He let out a coarse breath, pulling his legs towards his body as he buried his head in his arms. He wanted to box himself away. He just wanted to go back home. “What the fuck is happening…”

If this was a dream, it could only be qualified as a messed up nightmare. If it was real, then how the fuck did he end up here? Dream’s mind was a simultaneous hurricane and a blank slate.  _ What do I do now? How do I wake up from this stupid dream? _

Dream looked up from his arms, eyes locking on a sharp rock hidden amongst the forage. Tensed, he reached for the chiseled rock and clutched it in his fist. The cold had made his hands numb and by the time that Dream could feel the pain, blood seeped through his fingers and dyed the grass.

_ Ow. _ Dream shivered as he released the now bloody-stained rock. His hand throbbed, the skin had broken and made Dream queasy just looking at it. The pain felt real. Identical to how pain felt in the real world. He had thought that people didn’t feel pain in their dreams.

At this point, Dream was delirious, borderlining on a panic attack. 

“Dream?”

It was George. The small framed man scratched his neck, facial expression cautious and worried. “Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?”

“George,” Dream gulped, quickly hiding his bleeding hand behind his body but to no avail.

“Dream, you’re hurt!” George yelled in concern, grabbing for Dream’s wrist, pulling his injured hand out from behind him. The dark red blood streamed slowly down Dream’s wrist and onto George’s fingers. Dream read George’s face of pure concern.

“I’m alright, it’s noth-” Dream started.

“ _ What _ is going on, Dream,” George glared at Dream, his dark brown eyes bright with concern, hands around Dream’s wrist tightening. “First you wake up and ask me why I’m standing in our own house, then you dash out barefoot, without a jacket on I might add. Now you’re sitting here in your own throw up with a bleeding hand. Are you ill?”

Dream opened his mouth in an attempt to defend himself but his words were quickly cut off by the loud rumble emanating from his stomach. It was empty of course.

There was short silence between the two of them until George let out a sigh. “Let’s go home and eat breakfast. I’ll have no more of you running away.” George pulled Dream to his feet and dragged him back down the prime path. The man was too exhausted and starved to fight back.

-

“Now sit here and don’t move,” George said with a frown on his face, leaving Dream in the dining room to himself. Any wishful thoughts to leave the house were crushed by George’s quick reappearance with a first aid kit.

The two sat in silence as George bandaged Dream’s hand. He winced as George wiped the wound in alcohol and winced a second time as George tightened the bandages around his hand.

George brought over the toast and bacon as well as some eggs that he had left on the stove. The smell itself made Dream’s stomach churn. Without much pride left in his body, Dream hurriedly crammed the food into his mouth.

“Slow down, Dream,” George raised his eyebrows at Dream, “the food is not going to run away.”

George took a sip of his freshly steeped tea. “So, are you going to give me an explanation for what just happened?”

Dream stopped chewing, gazing up from his mangled toast to look at George. Even now, he wasn’t fully convinced that this was the real George. 

Dream cleared his throat, wiping the crumbs on his face with his sleeve. “George, I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I need you to answer them truthfully.”

“Oh, so you’re the one asking the questions around here, not me?” George sipped his tea.

“George.”

George sighed, “Oh alright, I’ll take you seriously. What do you want to ask?”

“What’s the day today?”

“November 9th.” George replied.

Dream felt the contents of his breakfast mix around in his stomach.  _ November 9th. _ That was exactly one week before the war on the SMP took place. So he had gone back in time?

“That’s all you needed to ask? Dream, you do realise we have a calendar on our fridge?” George scoffed.

Dream took a deep breath, “Um, what do you think of Schlatt?”

George looked at Dream, his eyes masking his reaction to that question a little too well.

“He’s our president, what else do you want me to say?”

“Okay, but remember the election? When he banished Tommy and Wilbur out from L’manburg?” Dream was riding on the storyline of the SMP.

George placed his mug on the table. “What are you trying to get at, Dream?”

“I-” Dream said.

“Dream,” George cut him off, “the more you ask, the more I get the feeling that I’m being interrogated. What has come over you? Did you have a bad dream last night?”

_ This is a bad dream alright. _

Dream buried his face into his hands. Taking a deep breath, he felt the warmth of his breath against his face. 

“Dream?”

Dream looked to him, “George, what am I to you?”

The man looked back at him, bewildered at the sudden question. Dream knew exactly what he was doing. He was testing George. Georgenotfound, Dream’s best friend and partner in crime. They made Youtube videos together, streamed on the same SMP together. But this George couldn’t say the same thing. This was L’manburg. Streams and Youtube didn’t exist. Dream gingerly gazed back at George, reading his eyes for any disparity between this George and the George he knew in real life.

“You’re my best friend.”

The two men looked at each other, a soft hum of ambient noise filling the silence.

“Alright, that’s enough of your shenanigans, we have crops to tend to, don’t you know that the Autumn sun sets early?” George stood up from his seat, placing his dishes into the sink before heading out the front door towards the fields.

Dream was left at the dining table in awe. Was that the answer he had been expecting? George had answered that question perfectly, exactly as how he imagined the real George to answer. Did that mean that this was the real George? Or simply that his mind had crafted the perfect simulation of his best friend?

_ What do I do? _

-

The day ended as soon as it had started. Most of it was simply a blur to Dream, he had helped George water the crops, the young man in turn ignoring him for the most part. Despite the fact that it was Fall, working for so many hours in the sun made him sweaty and groggy. By the end of the day, Dream was exhausted. He wasn’t a farmer, he was a Youtuber. He didn’t spend his days working in the field, he spent them sitting in front of his PC playing Minecraft. Even at dinner, he and George ate in silence, both of them too tired from the day’s work to even look at each other. And before Dream even had time to ask George more questions, he had gone to bed.

The sharp crackling of leaves echoed out into the dark nothing. _ Shit _ . Stealth had been the method in mind for Dream, clearly that wasn’t working out too well. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like anyone was there to hear his mistake. Who else would be out in the middle of the forest at midnight?

He hadn’t been able to sleep, it all just felt too surreal. He spent hours tossing and turning, thinking of his next plan of action. It was then that he had remembered that Wilbur would be in the ravine. Not sure exactly what he had in mind, Dream simply let his feet guide him here.

The terrain was identical to the blocky hills on the SMP, but Dream still felt a little lost, wandering between the endless spruce trees. He had quickly learned that checking his coordinates wasn’t an option anymore. With a knife in hand, Dream reached the supposed entrance of Pogtopia. It was a mound of dirt, if he mined away at it, he would find a staircase descending down into the deep cave.

_ How exactly am I supposed to get through the dirt? _

“Dream?”

He had been spotted. Dream heard the soft nickering of a horse, the soft clopping of hooves thumping against the ground. He turned to see the man on the horse, striking pink hair fluttered in the wind, a bloodied mask with tusks obscured the face of the rider.

“Techno.” Dream tightened his grip on his knife, unsure if Techno was an ally or an enemy.

Techno himself did not seem too alarmed by Dream’s appearance. He grabbed the reins and gently hopped off the saddle, tethering the horse to a nearby tree. “Why aren’t you heading inside?”

He breathed a shallow sigh of relief, loosening his grip, “I was thinking.” It didn’t seem like Techno had any hostility towards him.

“Well think inside.” Techno walked up to the nearest tree nest to the mound of dirt, pulling on the branch which in fact was more of a lever, revealing the entrance to Pogtopia. “Wilbur is waiting for you.”

-

Dream followed Techno down the damp stone staircases, his innate fear of heights certainly had picked the best time to act up. At a time like this, Dream began to wonder why in the world they hadn’t built safety rails in the ravine. Darkness shed to light as lanterns emerged from behind the crystalline rocks hanging from the ceiling. One small earthquake and those spears would come crashing down upon them. Pogtopia didn’t seem like a big fan of safety.

“I found Dream outside,” Techno loosened the knot tied around his chest which held his full length red cape on his shoulders. Dampened by the outside rain, the originally vibrant rose colour manifested into the colour of blood. Fitting of the man.

“Ah Dream, perfect timing I needed to speak with you.” 

The voice itself made shivers run down Dream’s spine. In a midst of panic, he reached for his knife, ready to fight once again for his life and the life of his people. He knew it was Wilbur, and he knew that everything that happened in the Dream SMP was all a big act, but now he was here. Now he was here and he was standing in front of the man that could very well kill everyone. He wasn’t the man that wore beanies and loved playing Geoguesser. He was insane.

“Wilbur,” Dream looked at the man, surrounded by the men which used to belong to the land L’manburg - Fundy, Tommy, Techno. His face was worn, he looked like he hadn’t slept in his days. Just like his character on the SMP was like, it seemed as though Wilbur had slipped off the rails. Blood stains on his shirt, eyebags sunk his eyes further into his emaciated face. Dream was daunted by the contrast to this man and his good British friend. He muttered through gritted teeth, “I can’t side with you any longer.”

Dream watched as Wilbur’s eyes flashed with momentary surprise, quickly countered with an unsettling smile. He slammed his hand down on the table separating them, “What did I tell you Tommy?” Dream’s eyes flitted between Tommy’s shocked expression and Wilbur’s colluding mask.

“W-what do you mean, Dream? I thought you were on your side?” Tommy fumbled over his words. It was well known among the people that in regards to skills, resources, and pure chaotic tendencies, Dream and Techno were fairly matched. Pogtopia had marveled in their ability to obtain both of them to their side in their war against Schlatt.

Wilbur chuckled, “He was never on our side, Tommy, he’s on the side of chaos. He always has been.”

Maybe on the SMP Dream did whatever he wanted, he just went with whatever was fun. But how could he this time? Lives could be on the line, and Dream wasn’t going to take his chances to find out what would happen if Wilbur actually blew L’manburg up.

“Why are you on Schlatt’s side now? Does he have something on you?” Fundy asked, eyes wavering in worry. Whether the worry was for Dream or for himself and his family, Dream wasn’t so sure.

He didn’t know how to answer. How could he tell them that in seven days, Wilbur was going to blow up L’manburg and that George and everyone was going to die? That Techno was going to summon the demons from hell, wrecking havoc and destroying every bit of land that had been so tenderly loved and treasured?

“I can’t tell you, but I have my own reasons for siding with Schlatt,” Dream said, fists clenched, “I should also tell you guys, there’s a traitor amongst you.”

His voice echoed out into the ravine, bouncing off the walls disappearing nothingness. No one spoke for a moment as they processed what Dream said.

“There’s a traitor?” Wilbur raised his eyebrows at Dream’s words.

“What the fuck?” Fundy muttered in absolute disbelief.

Tommy gaped, “A traitor, well it’s not me.”

Wilbur paused, “If there’s a traitor, Dream, why are you telling us this?”

_ Because I don’t want anyone to die. _

The man grabbed the knife from his belt, ripping the bandage around his hand which still stung from earlier in the day. With a swift motion, Dream slashed the fresh wound, deeper than before, red blood splattering onto the floor. He winced.

The other’s gasped, voicing their concern for their recent ally. Wilbur bit his lip, “What is the meaning of this, Dream?”

Dream sheathed his knife, dropping his bloodied hand to his side, the red liquid still dripping. “Blood will be shed on the 16th. No one, and I mean  _ no one _ will get out of the war unscathed. This is my last act of warning. Wilbur, I hope you make the right choice.”

-

He had cut his hand deeper than he had intended to, blood trailed from the pool at the center of Pogtopia up the stairs to the entrance. The blood loss made Dream’s mind a whirl. Had he done the right thing? His breathing heightened as he trudged back through the forest. Without much thought he had followed actions similar to his character on the SMP, and much like he had expected, everyone had reacted the same way to their real selves. If things went on like this till the war, would the same thing happen again? Seeing the notification that George had died on the computer screen was one thing, Dream felt sick to his stomach at the very thought of George getting hurt.

_ What if I can’t save him? _

Dream didn’t believe in Gods, all his life he only believed in himself. Whatever happened to him was directly related to his decisions and his capabilities. If he wanted something, he just had to work hard enough to get it. But that was before. If praying to the nonexistent Gods could help him through this, he was more than willing.

He stopped, feet sore, hand pulsing, a headache setting in. “I can’t do this…”

“What are you doing here, Dream?”


End file.
